


do you know what eternity is?

by gazing



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (sort of), Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, No Angst, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Practice Kissing, Romance, Silly, So Married, Tenderness, aka crowley pretends to propose to get free food and it escalates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-12 01:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20555696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gazing/pseuds/gazing
Summary: I'll pretend to propose, Crowley said.It'll be fine, Crowley said.It was, Aziraphale decided, not fine.





	1. welcome to married life, angel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fallensherlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallensherlock/gifts).

> follow me on tumblr @gazelongingly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh dear," Aziraphale says, "You've got an idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHO KNEW that the secret to defeating writer's block and writing your first multi chapter fic is... to write something silly 
> 
> the spirit of soft pastry angel aziraphale possessed me and made me write it
> 
> also my best friend held me hostage ilysm
> 
> featuring!!!  
\- british slang that i use on a daily basis  
\- thousands of words of shameless fluff  
\- very relatable gay panic

The Ritz has always, to Aziraphale, been such a breathtaking place.

Perhaps it's the chandeliers, sparkling in the air and swaying slightly, casting the place in a dim light. Or maybe it's the buzzing of conversation around him, a gentle lull drifting over their soft chairs. Either way, it's a very romantic place. Aziraphale could sit there all day, a pot of tea and a lovely stack of cakes sitting comfortably in front of him, with nothing to worry about at all except the chance of rain later, clouds drifting past the windows in dark shades of grey.

Most of all, though, there's nothing more delightful to Aziraphale than the company of someone else, an easy conversation or a bright smile beside him so much more thrilling than eating on his own. And right now, Crowley is the most pleasant company indeed, leaning his cheek on his hand and watching Aziraphale with a smile like he's the cat that got the cream.

Every now and then Crowley takes a large swig of wine, though it's only 3 in the afternoon, and Aziraphale would've scolded him if he didn't have his own glass, too. There's nothing worse than a hypocrite, after all. And alright, perhaps the burn of alcohol down his throat is a little exciting, perhaps sitting across from a demon with their knees touching is a bit thrilling, perhaps sitting here with his friend is so much more _ interesting _than a dull afternoon by himself.

Yes, Aziraphale decides, biting into his fourth scone, The Ritz has always been such a breathtaking place.

"What're you thinking so hard about, angel?" Crowley drawls, and Aziraphale looks back at him with a gentle gaze, all of Crowley's edges faded by the low light and the smile tugging at the edges of his mouth.

"Oh, nothing, nothing really," Aziraphale averts his gaze, looks down into the swirling pot of tea, watches steam rise from it a little in delicate grey smoke, "This is just... well it's not half bad, is it?"

"Not _ half bad? _ We've got expensive wine, heaven and hell aren't looming over our shoulders, and the world isn't ending." Crowley smiles wider, running his finger along the rim of his wine glass. "What else could you _ possibly _ want?"

Aziraphale pauses as if it's a real question, and then he meets Crowley's gaze and pulls a soft, pleading kind of face that he knows will make Crowley do anything for him. Already, he knows Crowley will say yes to anything he asks, but he leans across the table anyway, tilts his head just a little, revels in the amused smile on Crowley's face.

"Could you, perhaps," He asks in an innocent sort of way, "Buy me more scones...?”

"You're kidding. You could _ literally _miracle some right-"

"Well, yes, but it isn't the same as homemade, really, is it-"

"You could miracle them any way you wanted, you-"

"Now, now, calm down, there's really no need for-" 

"I just bought you three plates!"

"Oh, just one more." Aziraphale smiles to himself. He's already won. "_P__lease, _Crowley."

Crowley grumbles to himself, but he raises his hand, and before Aziraphale can even blink a waiter is slipping over to them with a polite smile. Aziraphale watches smugly when the waiter leaves to get him more scones. Another battle won. Much easier than a war against hell, he thinks, already anticipating the smell of homemade baking and the soft scent of scones.

"Why, thank you very much."

"I could have them poisoned, you know."

"You wouldn't!"

"I wouldn't be so sure, if I were you." Crowley mutters.

"Well, that's not very nice now, is it?" Aziraphale takes a sip of his wine. "And we were having such a pleasant evening."

"_You _ were having such a nice evening. _ I'm _the one paying for it."

"Well, you're a demon, Crowley, dear, it's not like I'm draining your life savings."

"Is it too late to bring back the apocalypse?" But Crowley is grinning and the air is warm and everything, everything is perfect, Aziraphale thinks, as comforting and lovely as the home he made in his bookshop. "It was less expensive."

"But we all could've died." Aziraphale points out.

"Yes, well, tit for tat." 

Oh, heaven is nothing, really, not compared to evenings like this. The closeness of Crowley, being able to see his long, pale fingers wrapped around his wine glass and a familiar fond smile tugging at his cheeks. And the light, casting them in that dull, romantic glow Aziraphale loves so much, making him feel like he's a human on a date and not a very old, very tired angel rebelling against his own nature.

The scones come, pretty and plump on a plate and smelling absolutely divine. They're a lot nicer than the last batch, Aziraphale thinks, biting into the warm filling and humming in appreciation. He looks up at Crowley shyly, his eyes just flickering up once, wondering if Crowley had made them so nice on purpose. It wouldn't be the first time Crowley's done something like that, but still Aziraphale's cheeks warm slightly at the thought.

But Crowley isn't looking at him anymore, he's staring into the crowds of people instead, and then his mouth slightly twitches and Aziraphale _ knows _ that whatever he says next will be decidedly _ not good. _

"Oh _ dear _," Aziraphale says, "You've got an idea."

Crowley turns to him.

"My genius knows no limits." Crowley takes the scone straight from Aziraphale's hand, biting into the other half with a flourish as if he's rewarding himself, "I've come up with a foolproof solution to all of our problems."

"No plan you've ever come up with has been foolproof, I'm afraid."

"No, I think you'll like this one, angel."

Aziraphale already doesn't like it. He stares pointedly at his scone in Crowley's, instead.

"Oh, sorry, open wide." Crowley says. Aziraphale opens his mouth, and Crowley puts the rest of the scone in it. "How do you feel about free food?"

"I rather think it's a good thing." He says, his voice muffled by the scone.

"I thought you might say that. And really, a little lying won't be a problem, will it?"

"Well, that depends-"

Aziraphale doesn't like where this is going. 

"_Crowley. _ Come on, out with it."

"Do you know," Crowley begins, slowly, "That if you propose at a restaurant, you get free food?"

Aziraphale almost chokes on his scone. 

"_Propose? _W-Why- I've never heard of such a thing. Is that real?" He says, after he's finished coughing.

Crowley snaps his fingers.

"Well, if it wasn't before, it is now." 

"_Crowley!" _Aziraphale hisses.

"Oh, come on, you've done much worse than that in your time, angel."

Aziraphale flushes. 

"Very well," He mutters, "What's your... plan?"

"That part was obvious," Crowley spreads his arms wide, far too proud of himself, "I'll propose to you, and we'll get more scones. Simple."

Aziraphale _ should _point out that there's really no need for any of this, because they're literally an angel and a demon, and they could just summon the scones out of thin air (or, if you're fussy and like them properly baked like Aziraphale, miracle yourself some money to pay for them). He also should point out that he's a little full now, his trousers straining a little, and frankly doing something as silly as that just to get some free food is pointless anyway, especially for entities that don't even need to eat or drink.

He doesn't say any of that. He just says, instead, with a frown,

"Absolutely _ not._"

"Oh, come on, Aziraphale, why not?"

"W-Well, it's- it's- it's _improper!" _

"_I__mproper? _" Crowley laughs. "You can't be serious."

"We should _ pay _for food, that's basic decency-"

"Now, _ really,_" Crowley drawls, "Let's not forget the times you left without leaving a tip, hm, angel? And let's not pretend that you don't _ always _pay for your lovely expensive food, now, do you-"

"That's enough!" Aziraphale's flush has spread down his neck. "There's really no need for this, Crowley."

"Come on, let's have some _ fun. _You don't even have to say anything."

"I suppose your acting isn’t _ that _bad...” Aziraphale grumbles. 

Crowley bumps their knees together.

"Come on, just this once. It'll be _ fine. _Just think of all the scones."

Aziraphale might say it's the wine or the food or the hazy light, but really the reason he agrees to this bizarre, humiliating, ridiculous plan is because Crowley has this warm affection in his voice, and he's alight with happiness, and there's nothing wrong with keeping that rare cheer there for just a little longer, is there?

"Well, alright, I suppose." Aziraphale grumbles. "But just this once, Crowley!"

"Yeah, yeah." Crowley drains the rest of his glass. "It's show time, angel."

"God forbid." Aziraphale mutters to himself.

Crowley looks over the top of his sunglasses and winks at Aziraphale. Then he's jumping _ on top of the table, _ and Aziraphale feels a thrill of dread down his spine, even though he has to admit that Crowley _ does _ look rather comical standing there like that, looking down at Aziraphale with a hand clutched over his heart.

"Gabriel my love," He croons, loudly, so that the rest of The Ritz can hear him. Aziraphale sets his jaw. _ Gabriel. _Couldn't he have picked a better fake name?

"We have been together for three years," Crowley announces, dramatically, and Aziraphale fights the powerful urge to roll his eyes. "Three _ heavenly _ years. Truly, the _ forces of hell _couldn't keep us apart.

Aziraphale's mouth _ will not twitch. _ It _ will not. _

"If I were to part from you, it really would be the _ the end of the world. _" Aziraphale bites his lip. 

Crowley drops to one knee on the table, and Aziraphale is trying very, very hard not to giggle. It's decidedly the hardest thing he's ever done.

"_My God, _I can't bear it any longer!" Crowley pretends to have a voice crack, "I must be with you forever, Gabriel. Will you marry me?"

Aziraphale, his face red with the attempt not to burst into giggle, his eyes filled with tears of laughter, simply nods, and the room erupts into applause. Even the waiters are clapping, and as Crowley sits down, he looks over his sunglasses at Aziraphale with twinkling eyes as if to say _ I told you so, _his mouth pressed tightly shut to suppress his own grin.

A waiter rushes over to their table, with, Aziraphale notices, mortified, tears in his eyes.

"That was so beautiful." The waiter murmurs, wiping his eyes.

Crowley nods very seriously, and Aziraphale is _ hysterical, _being driven mad by the urge not to laugh or push Crowley off his chair.

"Here, let me get you more wine, on the house," The waiter says, "And more of those scones too, of course! Congratulations to the happy couple!"

"Gabriel," Aziraphale says, when the waiter is gone and he's sure he can open his mouth without chuckling, "_Really, _Crowley?"

"That bastard," Crowley lifts his glass as if in a toast, "Just saved us a hundred quid."

*

In the dark, cold street of London, they can finally, finally laugh. Rain falls gently, landing on the tip of Aziraphale's nose, but he's too busy giggling, leaning into Crowley's side, the memory of Crowley crooning _ Gabriel, my love _playing on loop in his mind. The street lamps make the tear tracks of laughter on his cheeks glitter. 

"Ridiculous," He says, "Absolutely _ ridiculous. _ I've never been more embarrassed in my entire life."

"Your _ face, _ " Crowley's laughing, too, clutching his stomach, "_Gold_."

"I suppose it _ was _rather funny. And we did get free food, like you promised."

"Even if we didn't, it was so worth it. I made that waiter _ cry.”_

"I can't believe you," Aziraphale grins, tucks himself closer to Crowley's side when the rain picks up, with the convenient excuse in his mind that he's only finding somewhere to smother his laughter. "You are the worst person I've ever met."

"Liar." Crowley throws an arm around his shoulders. "You love it."

"I really wouldn't go _ that _far-"

"I would. Did you like my references to the apocalypse?"

"Oh, yes, very subtle."

"I was just improvising, too! Incredible!"

"You really should stop- stop tooting your own horn, you know."

"What was that?"

"I _ said _you should stop tooting your own horn."

Crowley laughs again.

“Come on, angel, say it was a good idea. You know it was."

"Well," Aziraphale says, carefully, his bright, happy face safely hidden by the dark. "It wasn't half bad."

They walk together like this, close and grinning, a little wet from the rain, their stomachs full and their spirits higher than they've been in centuries. Truth be told, it _ was _ the most pleasant of evenings, and Aziraphale wants to hide his face in Crowley's shoulder and murmur _t_ _ hank you _against his neck. A rather embarrassing thought, but it sticks nonetheless, whispering to him like the gentle, rainy wind.

"I know you said just once," Crowley says, slowly, "But that would work again. Not at The Ritz, of course, but other places. All that free food..."

Aziraphale doesn't say anything.

"You had fun, angel, I know you did."

He knows without looking at his face that Crowley is grinning, plans already settling in his mind. He pinches Crowley's side.

"Crowley, I’m not going through that again."

"Ow!"

"Oh, sorry," Aziraphale rubs Crowley's side, soothing the spot he just pinched with a gentle brush of his fingers, "But my point still stands."

Crowley stops, takes off his sunglasses, and lifts Aziraphale's face to meet his eyes. He smiles gently at Aziraphale, his eyes alight under the glow of the street lamps, yellow eyes sparkling.

"_Please, _Aziraphale."

"That's cheating. Now, stop that, Crowley, that's really not fair," Aziraphale mutters, ducking his head, "Yes, yes, alright, you win, stop pulling that face."

"I win!"

"There's really no need to be so insufferable about it."

"Get used to it," Crowley place his arm back around Aziraphale's shoulders, triumphant. "Welcome to married life, angel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crowley: here's the plan I'm gonna propose-
> 
> aziraphale: no????
> 
> crowley: -and we'll get free food
> 
> aziraphale: ... I'm in


	2. hopeless romantic, are we?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Did you just- why did you- you're a demon. And you booped my nose!"

"Good morning, Crowley." 

It's a bright morning, the slight chill of the air contrasting with the glaring sun. The day is just cold enough that Aziraphale feels a little chilly, his suit jacket pulled tightly around his arms, but not enough that he's uncomfortable - it's just a soothing sort of breeze, ruffling his hair and pacing the London streets. Crowley, of course, shows no sign that the weather bothers him, his jacket loose around his shoulders, his sunglasses firmly in place.

His face lights up when he hears Aziraphale's voice; Crowley had been leaning on the window of the cafe, _ Coffee Island, _looking out into the cars on the bustling street. Aziraphale had rather enjoyed the walk here from his restored bookshop, but still the sight of Crowley's smile refreshes him immediately, making the ache in his legs seem trivial.

"Angel, hey!" Crowley saunters over, tight jeans and hair ruffled by the breeze. It's started to grow a little down his neck now, and Aziraphale has been watching it grow, noticed it beginning to curl a little around his ears. "I told you, I would've picked you up."

"And _ I _ told _ you _that I'd love the walk."

He did love the walk - there's something so human about walking, one step in front of the other on cobbled pavements or busy streets, waiting a rather long time for the lights to change so you can cross the road. This waiting, this impatience, the irritation at someone bumping into you and the pleasure when you meet eyes with a stranger and they smile back... it's a human thing, to walk, and there is nothing more delightful than the moment your feet still and you're at the place you went to such efforts to get to.

"You could've at least let me walk with you."

"I hardly need a babysitter." Aziraphale looks up at him and smiles, though, "But thank you."

"Yeah, yeah." Crowley gets that defiant, stubborn look that he always gets when Aziraphale points out his kindness, and, taking mercy on him, Aziraphale tries to hide his smile, but finds he can't. He turns his face towards the coffee shop instead. It's already such a lovely morning.

Aziraphale loves a mug of tea on a morning before opening the bookshop, and this coffee shop has been highly recommended - already, he likes the tiny yellow flowers stuck to the window and on the sign, he likes the comforting, homely feeling it has, the smell of coffee drifting out of the doors and wrapping itself around him like a warm embrace.

"You know, this place is a bit more than a coffee shop," Aziraphale starts, as they walk inside the tinkling doors, "They deliberately built it close to the ground, so you can see the brewing process, and if you ask the barristers they tell you some very interesting things indeed."

Crowley just looks back at him, listening. He pulls out a chair for Aziraphale at a little table closest to the brewing area, and Aziraphale ducks his head as a pleased smile breaks over his face. The coffee shop is warm, the fumes of coffee and the smell of baking keeping them safe like a blanket from the chill outside, but when Crowley pulls back that chair instinctively, as if he's done it a million times before, that's when Aziraphale feels warmest.

"Isn't it a bit... weird, watching it being made like that?" Crowley peeks over at the counter and pulls a face. 

"Oh, no, isn't it delightful?" Aziraphale looks at the counter, too, dreamily, watching the brew be stirred, and stirred, and left to simmer, "You can watch all of the ingredients, all of the effort, put into that one drink that you'll just... drain in an instant! Poof!"

"There_ really _is nothing better than a hot drink, is there? An expensive, well brewed cup of tea, or a rich coffee." Aziraphale sighs, "Ah, I can already taste it. It's so..."

"Heavenly?" Crowley cuts in, and Aziraphale rolls his eyes.

"For lack of a better expression," Aziraphale says, primly, but he looks at the menu and his face lights up again. "Oh, maybe we should strike a conversation with these barristers, I'd love to learn more about the history- Or- Or try every single beverage on the menu, I'm going to struggle to choose..."

Crowley tilts his head, grinning. 

"What? What are you looking at? Have I got something on my face?" Aziraphale asks, looking over his menu at Crowley with wide eyes. Realisation dawns on his face."Oh, I'm terribly sorry, I got carried away, didn't I?"

Crowley's hand is flat out on the table - as Aziraphale had been talking, he'd been thrumming his fingers on the table while he listened, but now, at the note of doubt in Aziraphale's voice his hand reaches forward, pauses, and then pulls back, as if he was going to- oh, no, certainly not.

"I'm listening." Crowley says, gruffly, turning his head to stare fixedly at the counter, where the sounds of conversation and brewing are gently humming. It might just be the glint of the sun, but Crowley's cheeks look a little darker, "Go on." 

"At least let me buy you a coffee, then," Aziraphale looks down at the menu, and his eyes come alight with enthusiasm, "Aha! I know just what you like."

"Did you forget about our arrangement?" Crowley drawls, turning his head back to Aziraphale, a smirk rising in his cheeks. That, Aziraphale knows, is a look of pure evil.

"What arrangement?" Aziraphale says, busying himself with putting his menu back and folding his hands on the table.

"Don't play dumb, angel," Crowley leans forward, "It doesn't suit you."

"I don't know _ what _you mean."

"You _ do. _"

"Really, it must have slipped my mind, I'm a rather busy person you see-"

"Busy my ass."

"I _ am _ busy. Just last week, I received a _ humongous _order-"

"Don't try to distract me by using words like that!_ " _

"I'm not- I'm not _ distracting _ anyone!" Aziraphale huffs. "Come on, now, I really just want a nice pot of tea, that's _ all- _"

"You agreed to my plan!" 

"Well, that was all of the wine. In fact, I don't even _ remember _what your- your ridiculous plan even was!"

"Keep going, Aziraphale, and I'm filing for divorce."

"We're not even married!" Aziraphale splutters.

A slow smile rises in Crowley's cheeks, and Aziraphale can imagine it spreading behind his eyes, glinting and shining in the morning light. Truth be told, he didn't forget about Crowley's humiliating idea at all, the memory of _ Gabriel, my love _ still a fond image in his brain. But he'd hoped that this was just another one of Crowley's passing fancies, one more piece of mischief to be laughed at and forgotten about, but now his morning tea is being delayed, and he's spending his time arguing with a stubborn instead of demon instead of testing out the menu, and... oh, to hell with it, it's so very _ fun. _

"This is all very inconvenient, you know, Crowley."

Crowley stands and tweaks his nose. Aziraphale splutters again, and throws his hands over his nose, a flush rising to the tips of his ears.

"Sit tight, angel," He drawls, "I'll get you that tea."

"Did you just- why did you- you're a _ demon. _ And you _ booped _ my _ nose! _"

"And some of those cakes, for good measure." Crowley says, innocently, completely ignoring Aziraphale's splutters.

He's doing some strange motions with his arms, as if preparing himself. And really, he always complains that Aziraphale is embarrassing, but Aziraphale is pretty sure that Crowley embarrasses himself without even trying. Still, he looks up at Crowley fondly, steeling himself for whatever ridiculous speech he's going to say this time, while simultaneously thinking that no morning, no day with Crowley, could ever be dull.

"Angel," He drawls, eventually, into the busy coffee shop. 

A few heads turn to look at them, and Aziraphale tries to resist the urge to bury his face in his hands - he's doing rather well until Crowley pulls a rose from inside of his jacket with a flourish.

"Oh, dear god," Aziraphale murmurs under his breath. He thinks that the apocalypse would've been preferable to whatever _ this _ is. But oh, despite the theatrics, it _ is _a pretty rose...

"For you." Crowley bows and holds out the rose. 

Aziraphale takes it between his fingers - the long, pink rose is a subtler and softer shade than the usual red, the stem sitting gently between his forefinger and thumb. It smells so divine, like springtime and a field of flowers, like a quiet, peaceful countryside. Aziraphale can feel the life thrumming through it, and smiles.

Crowley raises his eyebrow as if to say _ you're welcome. _Aziraphale brushes his finger ever so gently along a pale petal, already planning in his mind where he's going to place the rose. On the windowsill of his bookshop, in a little vase, kept alive in the purest water and growing the rest of it's life by that window looking out on London, his home-

"Angel," Crowley repeats, "However much we irritate each other, you must know..."

Aziraphale looks up, wide eyed and startled.

  
Then Crowley smiles slightly, just the tiniest, most genuine curve of his mouth. It might not be noticeable to anyone else, but Aziraphale has spent centuries studying Crowley's face for tenderness, for care, for anything genuine he can find to convince himself that Crowley is good at heart.

That face he's pulling, that smile that says _ this is for you, _is honest enough that Aziraphale has to look at his rose instead. He's seen that expression on Crowley's face before, only in glimpses, and now he's hit full force by the wave of affection in Crowley's smile.

"There's no one else I'd rather spend my time with. All of it."

Silence. 

"Well, you do drive me round the bend," Aziraphale says, almost whispering, counting the petals of the rose, "But I suppose it's... I dare say I... well we _ do _have a rather fun time together, don't we?"

Then Crowley drops down on one knee dramatically and the spell is broken. Oh, curse Aziraphale, for getting caught up in this silly facade- of _ course _ Crowley was only saying it for his _ ridiculous _proposal, and all of this, all of this was just-

"Marry me?" Crowley asks.

A moment in time: Aziraphale's rose clutched between his fingers, the coffee shop standing still with anticipation, the tension in Aziraphale shoulder's starting to hurt. He doesn't look up at Crowley when he speaks stiffly to the rose,

"Yes, alright then."

And then Crowley grins and stands and slips back into his seat and says something like_ that wasn't so bad, was it? _ but Aziraphale has tuned it out, his head buzzing with _ there's no one else I'd rather spend my time with. all of it. _ and the smell of the rose making him positively _ dizzy _.

Aziraphale is startled out of his thoughts when Crowley sets a hand over his own on the table. His hands are a little rough, his fingers long and cold, but his hand is gentle over Aziraphale's smaller one.

"Don't panic, angel." Crowley hisses. "Just act natural, the barrister's coming."

Aziraphale nods dumbly. He can remember holding Crowley's hand in a much different circumstance - 

_ On the bus to his house that night, so close that their knees and shoulders touched, so tightly pressed he could have rested his head on Crowley's shoulder, and pretended to be asleep. When he'd sat down, Crowley had pulled Aziraphale beside him by his hand - and there Aziraphale's hand had sat, snug in Crowley's lap, their fingers intertwined on his knee. _

_ They'd stayed like that from those warm bus seats to the streets of London and right to Crowley's house.. They hadn't looked at each other, hadn't spoke about anything important, and Crowley's hand had stayed clutched tightly to his (as if to say I can't lose you again) until the very moment they parted. Even then, Crowley's fingers had held on, just for a moment. _

_ "Just for tonight," Aziraphale had said then by the front door, a whisper in the dark night that was meant to be firm and unyielding like usual but came out softly, tenderly. He'd held his hand to his chest and had felt his heart beating underneath his fingers, loud enough to be heard in the quiet space between them, perhaps. "Just until I can get my bookshop back." _

"I got a glass for your rose," The barrister says, breaking Aziraphale out of the memory. She's grinning, her face alight with second hand happiness. Oh, Aziraphale truly loves humans. "It's not a fancy vase, or anything, but... I hope this is alright. Congrats."

"Oh, it's perfect, _ thank _you." Aziraphale says, his voice coming out more broken and tender than he expects, and Crowley squeezes his hand. He watches the stem of the rose sink into the water, and his breath sticks in his throat.

"Free coffee, on the house." The barrister says, "Boss' orders. Would you like some cakes, too?"

Aziraphale doesn't look at Crowley, knowing fine well he'll see an annoying expression of triumph on his face, and smiles at the girl instead.

"That would be lovely, if you don't mind."

"No, not at all!" She turns to grin at Crowley. "The rose was a nice touch, by the way. I wish my girlfriend was romantic like that."

"Shame." Crowley drawls, amused.

  
Aziraphale presses his fingers gently against the barrister's elbow as she passes. Crowley retracts his hand from Aziraphale to run it through his hair, and now Aziraphale's hands seem useless and restless on the table, like an extra limb.

"What'd you just do, angel?"

"M-Me? Nothing, nothing at all."

"Mhmmm." Crowley peers at him over his sunglasses. "So you didn't just give that girl a miracle?”

"Of _ course _not."

"Yeah, right," Crowley grins, "Hopeless romantic, are we?"

Aziraphale imagines the barrister going home to a bouquet of flowers from her girlfriend, imagines the delight and surprise in her face. Had he looked like that, when Crowley had held out that stupid rose? He flushes and looks at the flower in the glass. The whole thing is just so _ silly. _

"Maybe I am." He says, quietly. "But aren't all of us romantics at heart?"

Aziraphale can always sense when Crowley is staring at him, even when his eyes are hidden by those pesky sunglasses. He feels the gaze now, the attention burning on the back of Aziraphale's neck, a probing, fixed look that makes Aziraphale feel seen.

"Aziraphale, I-" 

But they're interrupted by the pot of tea, the mug of coffee, and the pile of cakes that come to the table. By the time Crowley can speak again, the moment is lost.

Aziraphale picks up a cake and molds his face into his usual, cheerful expression.

"Can I tempt you to- I mean, would you like some cake?"

"Oh, I'd love some," Crowley grins. "But only if you feed me."

"Do all demons have such high standards?" Aziraphale grumbles, but he holds out the cake and let's Crowley bite from it anyway.

"Just me, angel," Crowley's voice is muffled by the cake, spilling crumbs onto his jacket, "_ They _don't know the difference between a victoria sponge and a battenburg."

"Oh, well, isn't that dreadful!" Aziraphale exclaims.

There's a little smudge of icing beside Crowley's mouth, a white streak across his skin, just sitting there. It gets annoying, after a while. Aziraphale gets a little sick of it, his fingers itching to just swipe it away. But he's well aware of how this all looks, and really, he could just _ tell _Crowley the icing is there, but that pesky demon probably would just keep it there to spite him, so he-

Aziraphale leans across the table, and gently presses his thumb against the side of Crowley's mouth. He rubs the icing away. There's a moment, when Aziraphale's hand is just hovering over Crowley's mouth, when the noise in Aziraphale's head becomes quiet, and everything means nothing compared to the soft feeling of his hand on Crowley's skin.

"You see, um," Aziraphale coughs, "There was, er, there was a smidge of-"

"Yeah, I-I get it." Crowley mutters.

He presses a hand to the side of his mouth where Aziraphale touched, his ears bright red, his eyes darting around the shop nervously. Aziraphale is so endeared by this rare display of embarrassment on Crowley's face that he momentarily forgets himself and does something even _ more _ridiculous than anything that has happened thus far - he sucks the icing from his thumb. 

Well, this just takes the cake, doesn't it, Aziraphale thinks. 

Crowley almost falls off his chair.

"It's a very nice cake," Aziraphale says, innocently, and decides that by tomorrow morning he'll be on a train to Tadfield, where he'll ask Adam Young very nicely if he's amiable to resuming the apocalypse.

When that kind barrister passes by them again, Aziraphale grabs her and asks her curiously about the coffee. They end up talking for what seems like forever as the morning slips by, Aziraphale listening intently, Crowley leaning back in his chair and watching.

"You know," The girl says, after a little while, "You're really chaste for a couple. You guys old fashioned or something?"

"Why, that's-"

"Oh, don't worry," Crowley interrupts. "We'll work on it."

*

After the coffee shop, they stand by Crowley's car, resuming a century's old argument that Aziraphale never tires of. 

"Come on, angel, let me drive you back to the shop."

"It's not a long walk-"

"Yeah, but-"

"Crowley, really-"

"I'm going to throw you in the damn car if you don't-"

"There's really no need for theatrics-"

"Fine!" Crowley throws his hands in the air, easily defeated, "But at least let me see you again today."

"Well, I suppose that'd be alright," Aziraphale says, casually. 

"Close up early."

"No, Crowley, you'll have to wait."

"Oh, come on, just this once."

"That's what you _ always _ say. It's never just _ once. _" 

"Stay at mine then. Tonight."

A loud, embarrassed statement. Crowley speaks it into the cold London air. Aziraphale pauses.

"Alright then," He says, quietly, only because the hopeful tone in Crowley's voice gets harder to resist every day. "But _ only _because it gets darker this time of year."

"That's the stupidest excuse I've ever heard." 

"_Excuse _me-"

"You're an _ angel, _Aziraphale! You stopped Armageddon! Don't pretend you're scared of the dark! Just admit that you-"

"I really must be going, Crowley." Aziraphale announces, turning swiftly on his ankle. He hears Crowley's amused huff behind him and smiles slightly to himself where Crowley can't see him, the glass of his rose clutched tightly between his palms, the whole of London stretched ahead of him.

That's how he makes it back to his bookshop, still smiling and glowing from the morning, his shaken heart still not quite back to it's regular state.

"Here you go, love," He says gently, to the rose, and rests it on the windowsill in his best, most precious vase.

He stares at it for just a moment, that small piece of Crowley sitting safely in his home, and he feels warm. The taste of tea and cake lingers in his mouth, a secret hidden here in his bookshop, and the rest of his day passes in sunshine.

His day gets brighter still when the evening finally comes (not that Aziraphale had been waiting for it, no, no of course not) and Crowley strolls into the shop. Aziraphale is stacking books at the time, hidden behind a bookshelf, so he can watch without being seen Crowley's sauntering walk, the confident tilt of his head, the casual way he wanders in all of Aziraphale's private, sacred places.

Aziraphale is about to surface from behind the bookshelf when Crowley spots the vase. He freezes, then his expression morphs into something tender, and he smiles slightly at it, reaching out to run his finger along a petal. Aziraphale feels the touch like it's Crowley's fingers on him, not on the flower.

"You ready, Aziraphale?" He calls into the shop, his tone casual but his entire focus fixated entirely on that damn rose.

Aziraphale nods as if Crowley can see him. He thinks to himself that perhaps Crowley is right: there really is no one else he'd rather spend his time with. _ All of it. _ Letting a demon blunder through Aziraphale's home is the best decision he ever made, and one he keeps trying to regret.

"Let's go," Aziraphale says, basking in the way that Crowley's face lights up when he sees him, "You better have some good wine at yours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crowley, pulling a rose out of his coat like the dramatic gay that he is: for you!!!! !!!!!!!!!!


	3. for the free food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, no, angel, take your time, we've got all night." Crowley drawls, into his ear, which sets them off laughing again.

The moonlight is casting shadows on the walls of Crowley's living room.

It's a splendid night, Aziraphale thinks. From where he's sitting he can see the stars twinkling outside, glittering just outside of the curtains, little white pinpricks in the sky. He thinks of someone hanging them there, placing the stars in the dark to burn, and it's a precious thought to have while drinking Crowley's best wine from a glass and sitting next to him on a couch, a glorious way to spend the evening.

There are two couches in Crowley's living room, but Crowley had sat himself at Aziraphale's side, leaning back into the cushions with his arm outstretched casually behind him, close enough to Aziraphale's shoulders that he could brush his fingers against him if he wanted. A hand against his shoulder, perhaps, a fingertip at the top of his spine. 

But his hand just sits there, and the longer they talk and laugh the less the thought of that hand, just behind him, fades, like a memory that's thought of for so long that it no longer feels real, or a word repeated too many times and now it doesn't make sense anymore

Aziraphale had, at first, sat stiffly, his back straight and his knees pressed together, only relaxing after two glasses of wine. But interrupting Crowley's stories had unwound the knots in his shoulders, the wine had brushed away the tension in his spine, and the more Crowley's smile grows the less Aziraphale feels guilty for being here, in a demon's house.

"Wine good?" Crowley asks. 

When Aziraphale looks at him, and the moonlight reflects the yellow in his eyes, it feels safer to look back at the stars. There is less wonder in him when looking at the night sky. How strange, he thinks, to look into Crowley's face without his pesky sunglasses there, and to feel more more awe than terror. Wasn't _ fear _ the reason God had made Crowley's eyes like that, the sharp yellow of a serpent? But fear doesn't belong in this evening, and Aziraphale has never been scared of Crowley or his eyes, only of his tender smiles and his careless hands.

"Of course, dear. You always have the best."

"Yeah, well," Aziraphale hears the grin in Crowley's voice, a spoonful of pride in his tone, "'s no big deal."

Isn't it splendid, to spend the evening like this, after such a lovely day? The brightness of the sun at the coffee shop, and the brewing tea, and the flower in the vase, and Crowley's eyes... they've all made up these few hours, causation bringing him this very miniscule moment in time, just a short, fleeting evening that will be lived in, loved, and forgotten again. 

He takes another sip of wine, and relaxes against the cushions, and the action makes Crowley's hand touch the nape of his neck. Crowley pulls his hand away, runs it through his hair instead, and then grabs the neck of the wine bottle as if desperately looking for somewhere to put his hand.

"What're you thinking about, angel?"

Aziraphale has heard this question so often before. Crowley is always probing at him, pushing against him, seeking to see every thought in his brain.

"The stars." Aziraphale sighs. It isn't _ quite _a lie, so Aziraphale decides that it doesn't count as one. "Aren't they lovely?"

"They are a little." Crowley murmurs. "When they're not exploding. Or turning into black holes."

"Or destroying planets."

"Yeah, that too." 

"Still," Aziraphale looks back at Crowley, "Some things are gorgeous even in their pain.. In fact, I think some things are even more beautiful while burning. Don't the flaws of stars remind you of humanity, a little?"

This makes the breath catch in Crowley's throat. There's a rawness to his face when he blinks a few times, a small smile rising at the corners of his mouth. _ I was talking about the stars, _Aziraphale thinks, helplessly, but was he really? The stars were only an excuse not to look at Crowley's face too closely in the first place. 

He wishes he could take the words back now, but this isn't how humans do it, is it? They say stupid things, their hearts sitting without permission on their sleeves, and once the words are in the air they stay there, forming a memory forever, irretrievable. 

"You think so?" Crowley's voice is too quiet.

"I do." Aziraphale says, tenderly, because there is nothing he can do now but commit to it. 

Crowley takes a large swig of wine from the bottle, taps his feet a few times on the floor, looks up at the ceiling, then at Aziraphale again, then away, an unending cycle of nervous twisting in the room.

"Whatever is the matter, Crowley?"

"Aziraphale, I have to tell you- this whole proposal thing- I-" 

Crowley pauses. Aziraphale can see the moment he changes his mind, going backwards on himself, and Aziraphale wants to reach out and steady him, say _ you can tell me, whatever it is, no matter what, _but he stays still.

Crowley's tone is too easy, too casual, and he throws his arm back over the sofa and takes a swig from the wine bottle and forces away the quiet moment they'd just shared. Intimacy like that was foreign between them, softness only rising between them from behind walls and walls of disinterest, and now Crowley is placing all of the chess pieces of their heart back into their proper positions. 

"I've been thinking about what that barrister said. She called us old fashioned. _Chaste._" Crowley shudders, "Do you know how insulting that is?"

Pawn, rook, knight, bishop, queen king. Aziraphale watches him rearrange their conversation like it's a board game and he doesn't stop him. He's scared of the gentleness too. He welcomes the glint in Crowley's eyes with a relieved smile of his own.

"Well, it's not exactly wrong-" Aziraphale stops, his wine glass halfway to his lips. "Oh, no, you've got another idea, haven't you?"

"You don't have to look so frightened, angel," Crowley's smile widens, "But wouldn't it be _ awful _if next time, our act just wasn't convincing enough? All that free food, gone in an instant... Poof!"

Aziraphale sniffs at Crowley's impression of him. He hadn't said it _ quite _like that. Once again, he doesn't mention the fact that they're literally immortal beings who are quite capable of creating their own endless supply of food with a little miracle. Crowley's too invested in his own ridiculous plan now, anyway, and Aziraphale's words wouldn't make the slightest difference.

"What are you proposing then?" Aziraphale pauses, "Pun intended."

"You've been on earth long enough," Crowley drawls. He takes a swig from the bottle before speaking again. "How do humans show affection?"

"They, um," Aziraphale's eyes brighten, "Adopt a puppy! Oh, please, can we-"

Crowley raises his eyebrows. 

"I've never heard of a proposal with puppies involved, have you?"

"There's a first time for everything," Aziraphale speaks primly, "And I was only joking anyway."

"No you _ weren't _."

"I _ was. _Now come on, get a wiggle on."

"I really need you to stop saying that."

"It gets the point across!"

Crowley pauses, the smile on his face fading a little, his eyes flickering with doubt for just a moment.

"They kiss." Crowley breathes. "You know, at weddings, at proposals. That's what humans do."

There's a moment where Aziraphale stops and looks at Crowley with wide, terrified eyes, his mouth parted in surprise. He coughs, once, flushes up to his ears, and looks back at the stars, the safe option.

"K-Kiss?" 

"You've been to a bunch of weddings, angel, surely you've seen that whole _ kiss the bride _thing that they do." Crowley shudders. "A little old fashioned, I reckon. But we wouldn't need to answer any annoying questions if we did it. No one could doubt us."

"But- it's-" Aziraphale speaks weakly, his hands shaking around his wine glass, "Wouldn't that be-?"

"It's just pretending." Crowley tries to smile.

"Well, I suppose, I-"

Aziraphale wants to put up a fight, but there's a thrill of excitement crawling up his spine, a flush in his cheeks, a longing to at least _ see _what all the fuss is about. 

"Just once, for your- your stupid plan," Aziraphale says. "Like you said, it's pretending."

Crowley looks at him in surprise.

"Really? You're not going to put up a fight?"

Aziraphale says nothing, just twirls his wine glass, watches the wine shimmer and ripple and move in slow circles. He doesn't react when Crowley takes the glass from his fingers and sets it slowly on the ground. He doesn't pull back when Crowley lifts his chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing Aziraphale to meet his eyes.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable," Crowley speaks, gentle.

"Crowley," Aziraphale sighs. The admission slips from him in a rush, for once the truth spilling from his mouth and into the air. Irretrievable, that's what human words are, no way to turn back. "You're not. The whole proposal situation really hasn't bothered me. It's been rather- rather fun, actually. If you think this is a better course of action, then- then I don't mind you kissing me at all." 

Oh, damn Crowley's wine. Words are spilling from him like a fallen bag of sugar, sticking to every corner of the counter, etching themselves into Crowley's floorboard. It dawns on Aziraphale these things he's saying are now going to live here forever.

"I'm not? It hasn't? You don't?" Crowley pauses, his hand hovering in the air. "Actually, Aziraphale, there's something- Well, the thing is, I haven't- I've never-"

There's an embarrassment in Crowley's face that Aziraphale has never seen before, a tightness in his face. It's Crowley who averts his gaze, Crowley who ducks his head, more timid than Aziraphale has ever seen him.

"_Oh. _" He breathes. "Crowley, you... you haven't...? But-"

"Aziraphale." Crowley's voice is sharp, a warning. "Shut it."

"Alright, I just- I'm just surprised, I thought that was part of the whole- the whole demon thing-"

"There are easier ways to tempt people." Crowley says, and Aziraphale is not sure that it's the truth.

It's the tightness of Crowley's shoulders, the usual litheness to his body all wound up, that makes Aziraphale turn and take Crowley's hand between his own. He places their hands on his lap. He's never done anything like this before, but he supposes it's worth it to reassure Crowley, to soothe his nerves, to make him laugh and smile again, careless.

Moving his thumb across the back of Crowley's hand, then, is just a way to comfort his friend. There's nothing deeper about that.

"I suppose," Aziraphale speaks slowly, carefully, "That it wouldn't be very convincing if you just- plonked one on me and did it all wrong. Or if I- if I made a mistake too, then-"

Crowley smiles, relieved.

"Yeah. Yeah exactly. That's what I meant to say."

Aziraphale's hands tremble. It's not a sin against heaven, it's not another black mark on his soul, to pretend, is it? Will it really be pretending? The stars wink at him, as if they know the answer, as if they're watching the two of them sitting side by side on Crowley's couch with their hands intertwined. 

When Aziraphale had turned his head, when Crowley had turned his head, they'd ended up facing each other, their knees aligned and pressed together. It's easier enough, then, for Aziraphale to ignore the sky.

"So if you," Aziraphale speaks shakily, "If you wanted to practice- you know- to get it right- then I wouldn't. I wouldn't say no."

"For the free food." Crowley adds.

Crowley turns his hand and intertwines their fingers. A reassuring squeeze, just like on that bus, but it does nothing to make Aziraphale breathe easier.

"The free food." Aziraphale agrees.

Crowley looks at him for a long moment, as if assessing him to make sure it's alright. His hold on Aziraphale's hand is unbelievably tight, almost painful, so that Aziraphale can feel the pulse between Crowley's fingers. How scared he is, in this moment, with Crowley's eyes looking right into his own, and their hands pressed together. He thought he'd never be scared of those eyes, but now, with Crowley this close, he feels fear.

A different kind of fear, perhaps, than what they were intended to produce.

"Well," Crowley murmurs. "Here goes."

And Crowley leans forward, unsure, his face coming closer in the dim light. Aziraphale's stomach twists.

He turns his head away, to the side, a giggle rising in his throat. He can feel the tips of his ears turning red.

"Sorry, sorry, I just-"

Crowley presses his forehead against the side of Aziraphale's, his nose against Aziraphale's cheek, and laughs too.

"Just a moment, Crowley, while I-" Aziraphale tries to suppress his giggles, but it's too much with Crowley's hair tickling his head, Crowley's hand still clutched in his lap.

"Oh, no, angel, take your time, we've got all night." Crowley drawls, into his ear, which sets them off laughing again.

Then, silence, the smell of musk and alcohol and home. Aziraphale loosens his hold on Crowley's hand, so their fingers are pressed softly, gently, and Crowley just breathes against Aziraphale's skin.

"Alright." Aziraphale whispers, "Try again."

And Aziraphale turns his head, so that Crowley can look down at him again. It's only then, looking up into Crowley's face, that he sees the pink tint in Crowley's cheek, realises that Crowley's hands have been trembling, knows, deep down, that there is someone else more scared than him, who also feels a gentle twist of fear looking into his eyes.

"Get on with it." Aziraphale says, and lifts his head to kiss him.

Just a gentle, quiet press of his lips against Crowley's. He's read books like this, where people kiss, he should know what to do - but all he does is touch, once, and then pulls away to catch the wide, startled look in Crowley's eyes.

"Well? Did I do it right?"

Crowley- Crowley... touches his hand to his bottom lip, the same way he had in the coffee shop, when Aziraphale had swiped the remnants of cake from his mouth. He looks unravelled, terrified, his eyes flickering between Aziraphale's eyes and his mouth.

"Angel." He murmurs.

Aziraphale's stomach drops when Crowley shifts closer, too close, crossing his legs on the couch so that his knees rest on Aziraphale's thighs. Slowly, he removes his hands from Aziraphale's lap to cups Aziraphale's face. His skin soft between Crowley's fingers, and then Crowley smiles, in a tiny, content sort of way.

"I think it's more like this." Crowley says.

For one, fleeting moment, Crowley presses their foreheads together.

Then he tilts his head and kisses Aziraphale properly. Aziraphale thinks he understands, then, what the whole kissing thing is about, why humans spend so often like this, intertwined, close. It's just another step closer to Crowley, isn't it, just another way to learn more about him, a simple, glorious thing. Tasting, moving, touching. They are only ways to uncover Crowley's layers, to find out something new.

Like the warmth of his mouth, the cold touch of his hands, the softness of his nose against Aziraphale's.

Crowley's gasp into his mouth, wrecked, is discovery.

At some point, Aziraphale must have gripped Crowley's shoulders, because now he's holding on for dear life, terrified. Crowley pulls back to look at him, and his eyes widen.

"Oh, that's- Don't-" Crowley whispers, "You can't look like that- please, Aziraphale- I can't-"

Aziraphale thinks he knows exactly what Crowley means. There is something even _ more _damning than kissing, perhaps - it's the after, it's the flushed state of Crowley's face, the parting of his lips, the wildness, the purity, of this closeness.

"You have to stop." Crowley murmurs. "You have to stop- looking at me like that-"

He ducks his face and hides it into Aziraphale's shoulder.

"Like what?" Aziraphale asks, all in one breath.

"Like-" Crowley's lips move against Aziraphale's neck when he talks, and Aziraphale hums. "_ Aziraphale. _Stop that."

"I don't know- know what you're talking about." 

Aziraphale presses his hand to Crowley's head, moves his hand over it soothingly, his fingers caught in the curling of Crowley's hair. _ Oh dear, _ he thinks, feeling the way Crowley trembles against him, _ oh, dear. _

Crowley presses a tender kiss against the skin of his neck, then nips it. Aziraphale makes a small sound, a soft breath, the most gentlest of moans, but it is still too much.

"I think," Aziraphale breathes, "I think that's enough practicing, dear, don't you?"

When Crowley pulls back, ruffled and red, Aziraphale thinks he understands why humans can get addicted to this sort of thing.

"Time for bed, Crowley, don't you agree?" 

Crowley pauses, for just a moment, and Aziraphale thinks this is all going to go very differently - that Crowley will come close to him again and sin and fear will breathe in this room, all of Aziraphale's hard edges softened and broken by touch. But Crowley just nods, once, stumbling to his feet, backing away and away until he's almost at the window, the terror in his eyes reflected in Aziraphale's own.

"You remember where your room is?" Crowley asks, his voice gruff. He coughs. "Down the hall. On the left."

"I remember." Aziraphale smiles, but it feels false in his cheeks, too stretched. "Thank you. There's, a, um, a sushi place just opened. Downtown. If you, er, want to put that practice. To good use. Tomorrow."

"Yeah." Crowley nods, trying to act casual leaning on the wall, but he misses and stumbles and has to upright himself. Despite himself, a genuine smile tugs at Aziraphale's mouth, and Crowley smiles back just a little. "Yeah, uh, okay, tomorrow then."

So Aziraphale walks down the hall, and into the room he's only stayed in once before, but is now christened _ your room _ by Crowley anyway. And he crawls into that bed, even though it's only 10pm, and he thinks and he thinks in circles of _ heaven and hell _ and _ Aziraphale and Crowley _ and _ pretending and kissing. _

It's inevitable that he thinks of the rose waiting for him back at his bookshop, because he has thought about it many times already. Aziraphale knows it'll live forever, because he'd sensed Crowley's magic on it. It's so lovely to think that Crowley is the type of person to waste a demonic miracle just to make Aziraphale smile even once, but it isn't surprising.

Oh, Crowley. Aziraphale hears his voice in the room. _ You have to stop looking at me like that. _He is glad he can't see his own face - he's sure he'd hate what he'd have saw painted there. There is nothing worse to him than his own vulnerability.

A shadow falls over the bed. Aziraphale sits up, looks up, feels his chest hiccup when he sees Crowley leaning there in the doorway in the dark.

"Goodnight, angel." He says.

His eyes flash yellow in the darkness, holding Aziraphale's gaze for a second, drawing him in. There are laws, and sins, and rituals - there are structures that have always held Aziraphale's heart in place. This is why Aziraphale can stay still on the bed. It is not easy, not as easy as usual, but somehow he stays there on the bed sheets.

He doesn't slip from the bed and stride towards Crowley.

He doesn't take Crowley in his arms. 

He doesn't kiss him again.

"Goodnight, dear," He murmurs, instead, quiet enough that Crowley might not hear him.

And... Crowley disappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yea i went all out with the tenderness and what about it


	4. very romantic, my dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I promise." Aziraphale murmurs, powerless.

At quarter past nine, one of Aziraphale's preferred random closing times, the Bentley pulls up with a _ vroom, vroom _and a loud beep outside of the bookshop.

It's been a long, fuzzy day - Aziraphale has drank 3 coffees and 4 cups of tea, but even still is eyes are heavy, his hands tremble, and his face looks worn and old. Truth be told he couldn't sleep at Crowley's house, tossing and turning on the bedsheets that Crowley had made just right for him (silk, patterned, effortlessly pretty) and now the exhaustion has caught up to him, stealing his energy and making him rest his head on his desk more than once.

He doesn't really fancy sushi, or going out into the night at all, but when Aziraphale emerges from the bookshop he sees Crowley waiting for him in the car, leaning on the window and grinning as if to say _ hi! hello!. _ It reminds Aziraphale of a time before this whole _ proposal _ordeal, before his world shifted on his axis. The sight of Crowley there sitting waiting for him like he always does makes Aziraphale feel normal again.

So, like usual, Aziraphale turns and locks the door, his fingers trembling only a little as he inserts the key into the lock. He catches his reflection in the window of the door when he does so, and sighs - his hair is oddly dishevelled, parted in the wrong place, and his waistcoat is a little creased, and the lines around his face look worn and unlike himself.

"Get a wiggle on," Crowley calls, a teasing note in his voice, and Aziraphale pulls a face when he remembers Crowley mocking him for that same phrase.

"Keep rushing me and I shan't come at all." Aziraphale sniffs, making a great show out of turning the doorknob a few times to check if the door is locked.

"Get in the car, you idiot."

As always, Aziraphale slips inside the Bentley. 

As always, Queen is blasting loudly, and Crowley has the windows open so the wind can throw back his hair. 

But has the space between them always been this small, so much so that when Aziraphale shifts his knees he feels he's going to knock against Crowley's legs? There's something sparkling in Crowley's eyes that wasn't there before, a hopeful promise, so bold and seperate from the night before.

The night before. Oh, the feel of Crowley on his neck.

There are some things, Aziraphale thinks, avoiding Crowley's gaze by staring out of the passenger window, that should never be thought about more than once.

_ (Oh, but still, hadn't it been lovely? Aziraphale had always had a penchance for lovely things. Expensive, or tasty, or priceless. He collects them, after all. Can he collect memories, too? Because if he could, then that, that small night, just one in a few hundred billion, would be the most prized possession, the one he'd always protect). _

"What're you thinking about, angel?" Crowley asks, halfway through Somebody to Love.

Aziraphale flushes. 

"It's not like you to get distracted during Queen."

"It's not like _ you _to be so quiet. Haven't you got a story to tell me about your boring day at the bookshop?"

Aziraphale's face lights up.

"Well, there_ was _ this one gentleman, who staggered inside. Clearly intoxicated, you see, very improper. He'd looked at me, and he said," Aziraphale laughs, "He said _ you got a light?. _I'm standing there, on a ladder, with a stack of books in my arms,"

"Looking silly,"

"Looking very _ professional, _ clearly surrounded by priceless items. And he's asking me for a _ light _for his cigarette."

"Classy." Crowley grins. "Typical London. What did you do?"

"Gave him a disapproving look,"

"Like this?" Crowley turns his head and peers seriously over his sunglasses, and Aziraphale giggles.

"No, much more intimidating than that,"

"Show me."

"_ No, _ you old serpent _ . _"

"Oh, come on, really, I wanna see."

"Well, that's too bad." Aziraphale looks out into the night sky, grinning. "Anyway, it didn't seem to do much, because he just looked around the room with the look of someone who has no idea where they are. and then he said, and I quote, _ this isn't Ben's. _"

"Who's _ Ben? _"

"That's what _ I _ wanted to know. And then this man, he looks at me, drops to his knees, and starts _ crying. _Really, you couldn't make it up."

"I bet you did make it up. This whole thing, you're just having me on."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Aziraphale meets Crowley's eyes and everything feels warm and steady again. The fear he'd felt, standing motionless in his bookshop while Crowley waited outside, is far away. "But it was certainly a fun story to tell."

They pull up outside the sushi restaurant, the car coming to a gentle standstill. Aziraphale goes to open the door and slip into the cold evening, but Crowley is already there, pulling open the door and holding out a pale hand.

He takes Crowley's hand, feels Crowley's fingers grip around him for a gentle moment, pulling him into the night. The chill of the air hits him immediately, making him shiver, but Crowley rests a hand on his back and he's not cold anymore, whether by a demonic miracle or just by the magic of Crowley's touch.

"Oh," Aziraphale murmurs, "Thank you."

It does, Aziraphale supposes, look a little like a date, doesn't it? The dark night is lit by streetlamps, casting the whole street in short and contained glows; it rained a little, earlier, so there are small puddles on the pavement, reflected gold in the light of the lamps. Crowley is hovering behind him, a hand safe and secure on his lower back, a warm presence, like he's leading Aziraphale forward. Aziraphale looks up at the sushi restaurant and feels a warm glow. He doesn't mind spending his time this way really. Not at all. It would impossible not to yield to Crowley's charms after 6000 years.

They sit at one of the long benches on the counter, directly in front of the chef. Aziraphale sits primly on the stool, his back straight, whereas Crowley lounges on it, leaning both elbows on the counter and looking curiously over it.

"It's not good manners to have your elbows on the table, Crowley."

"I'm a demon, Aziraphale, do you think I've memorised The Ladies' Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness?"

"I knew Florence Hartley. For a writer on politeness, she was rather unpleasant." Aziraphale looks back at the chef, who's looking at them expectantly, but he turns back to Crowley.

"The Victorians were boring anyway," Crowley grins, "Though I did like the hairstyles. And nothing is worse than the 14th century."

"I thought you might say that."

"The 20th century is by _ far _my favourite. Look, they have sushi."

"Oh, but I do miss some things. I've been thinking about this lately, I wish typewriters would make a comeback."

"I'd rather not. All that clicking and clacking." Crowley shudders. 

It's then that Aziraphale realises the chef is _ still _waiting for their order, and has been for quite some time.

"Oopsie." Crowley drawls, although Aziraphale knows fine well that Crowley had probably been ignoring the poor chef the entire time on purpose (just like Aziraphale has, but well, that's neither here nor there.

"I'm terribly sorry, we always get a little carried away." Aziraphale says, "He's _ still _got his elbows on the table, if you can believe it."

"It's comfortable," Crowley whines.

"You're a lovely couple," The chef says, and Crowley grins, ignoring Aziraphale's splutter of surprise.

"Why, thank you, I have to agree."

"We're not-" Aziraphale starts, but Crowley nudges him sharply.

"I'm _ terribly _sorry," Crowley drawls, "My partner is a little shy."

"P-Partner?" Aziraphale exclaims. "And _ me, _ shy? Might I remind you that _ you're _the one who-"

"Oh, do shut up, angel-"

"Well, now you're just-"

The chef smiles politely, backing away. 

"I'll come back in a little while to take your order..."

"Splendid." Crowley grins.

"Oh, you scared the poor chef away."

"I think it was your yelling that did it."

They make the mistake of meeting eyes, and burst into laughter, leaning on each other's shoulders so they don't fall off those bloody stools. Aziraphale can feel the rest of the restaurant eyeing them with disapproval, but it's too funny to pay attention to them, he's too alight with joy to have any care for anything but the light in Crowley's eyes.

And then- then Crowley shifts, and Aziraphale finds his face buried in Crowley's neck, giggling against his skin. He freezes when he realises his position - isn't this how Crowley had found himself last night, his lips against Aziraphale's skin, his breath against Crowley's neck? 

The warm, cozy spot between Crowley's shoulder. How long can he stay here before he has to leave?

Aziraphale pulls back and coughs, and Crowley is bright red, and they don't look at each other but take turns glancing at safe places around the room. The window, the large menu on the wall, the chef, the counter top, the floor.

"S-Sorry." Aziraphale mumbles. Crowley blinks at him. 

"You're fine. Come on, I've got a proposal to be getting on with."

"Yes, well, better get it over with."

"The theatrics got boring after a while." Crowley slips off his chair. "I'll have mercy on you this time."

(You won't, Aziraphale thinks, you never do).

Crowley stands just next to his stool in the sushi restaurant. All the walls look orange in the light, and there is a constant stream of chatter and the clashing of plates, and people keep bustling behind Aziraphale. Still, it isn't the most unpleasant place to be proposed to in, it's really rather nice, actually. 

Crowley hits his fork against his glass to get everyone's attention.

"Give me your hand." He whispers. 

"W-What?"

"Think of the free food."

"Crowley-"

"Oh, just do it, you stubborn angel."

Crowley takes one of his hands from where they're folded tightly on Aziraphale's lap. It shouldn't be a surprise when Crowley bows to kiss the back of it, like some gentleman courting a lover, but it is enough to make Aziraphale squeak in surprise.

Crowley raises his eyebrows.

"Don't look at me like that, I haven't got a lot of experience with this sort of thing!" 

"That's alright, angel. Me neither."

When Crowley smiles like that, Aziraphale is sure Crowley could tell him anything, and Aziraphale would readily reply, or agree, or reciprocate, even if he pretended he didn't want to.

"I don't know if I buy into the whole... marriage thing." Crowley starts, "Seems a little over the top, to me. It's like, do you really have to prove to _God _that you want to be with someone forever? What does God care? It really is just a scam."

Aziraphale pulls a face.

"Very romantic, my dear."

"Wait a second, I'm getting there." Crowley grins. "But I think I- I think if you meet someone, who knows you completely and compares your flaws to stars, you want to keep them close, don't you? What does God matter, compared to that?"

_ "Some things are gorgeous even in their pain. In fact, I think some things are even more beautiful while burning. Don't the flaws of stars remind you of humanity, a little?" _

"Yes." Aziraphale murmurs, moved.

"That's the thing, isn't it? That's the reason for this whole- this marriage thing. Whatever troubles you have- Whatever stands between you-"

"If you love someone," Crowley pauses. "Even the promise of forever isn't enough."

"Crowley?" Aziraphale whispers. Aziraphale looks at Crowley, and Crowley looks back at him helplessly. _ Gabriel, my love, _is so far away now, the laughter of those earlier days so distant from these confused, vulnerable moments. 

"Will you m-" Crowley shakes his head, suddenly, "No. That's not it. "

A pause.

"Promise to be with me for eternity." .

It isn't a question. It isn't a proposal, either.

"I promise." Aziraphale murmurs, powerless

Then Crowley leans down to kiss Aziraphale's forehead, to press his lips gently between his eyebrows, as if sealing the promise. Aziraphale catches his wrist, holds it tightly between his fingers, and Crowley hovers over him for a moment, like he's about to kiss him again.

"Congratulations!" The chef booms, startling them so badly that Aziraphale almost falls from his stool. Crowley catches him by his arm. "Free sushi! As much as you want!"

"Thank you." Aziraphale murmurs, not to the chef, but to Crowley. "For catching me."

"I'll always catch you." Tenderness, too much of it, filling this damned sushi restaurant to the brim. "I'll always catch you when you fall, Aziraphale."

"Well," Aziraphale laughs humorlessly, "That's a shame. I'm not falling anytime soon."

(It's a lie, of course, he's already fallen in a million ways, but by now Aziraphale is skilled in the art of lying).

*

Outside, on the cool streets, close to midnight, there is something lovely about the evening. The sky is completely black, no star in sight, and there is hardly any light but the streetlamps. Crowley is cast in shadow, and here Aziraphale's expression is hidden, here he can stand in secret, no longing or aching visible on his face (even though it exists there, hidden under shadows). 

Fresh splatters of rain have begun to fall. Drops slip into Aziraphale's hair and make it curl a little, and a droplet falls from the end of Crowley's nose. They should get in the Bentley, but standing outside together for a little longer, side by side in front of the restaurant, is nicer. 

Their shoulders are touching, just slightly, pressed together for no reason at all. As they stand there looking out into the night sky, the back of their hands keep brushing, a slight warm touch.

_ Promise to be with me for eternity. _

Aziraphale shifts just slightly, so the back of their hands are touching properly. There, he thinks, perfect alignment. He doesn't move when Crowley turns to look at him, his expression as innocent as he can muster, but he _ feels _it when Crowley steps closer to him, too, bridges a gap Aziraphale had been acutely aware of.

"Shame," Crowley drawls, "We never did get to show anyone what we practiced."

What they'd practiced in the dark... completely unnecessary kisses, a stolen goodnight in the doorway Aziraphale had felt deep down in his chest. Right now, Aziraphale is not quite sure where his human desire starts and his ingrained, habitual rejection of such desires end, but he knows more know than ever that Crowley is winning this battle, that.the more proposals there are the closer they get to each other. Touching. Moving. Filling up centuries old spaces. All he knows is that _ practising _is not what he'd felt when he'd kissed for the first time. He'd felt like a human would.

He has a choice, now, doesn't he? Laugh off Crowley's words, or spin them, manipulate them into the outcome he wants.

_ Promise to be with me for eternity. _

"Y-You know," Aziraphale starts, looking down at his feet, "There might be someone looking through the restaurant window right now. We- I mean, _ humans _are nosy like that, you see."

"Oh?"

"Yes. It _ would _ be a shame, if, um. Well you worked so _ hard _ to convince them of- of your proposal. And isn't it a kind of ritual in these things, _ dates _or whatever they're called, to, er, to-"

_“Oh. _ You mean, you, you-" Crowley's brain seems to be experiencing a shortcut "Ngk. You want to do _ that _again?"

Before he can second guess himself, or run away, or realise that he's just made the most pitiful excuse he's _ ever _made, Aziraphale turns. 

He stands on his tiptoes, puts his hand against Crowley's cheek, and gently presses his mouth to Crowley's.

"There," Aziraphale says triumphantly, "That should do it."

A beat of silence, in which Aziraphale regrets his entire existence, and Crowley looks down at him, stunned. Then Crowley shifts, and suddenly a warm hand lies over Aziraphale's on Crowley's cheek.

"You know," Crowley murmurs, in his ear, "Humans never do these things just once."

Aziraphale tries to breathe.

"Oh, that's right, they can go on for quite some time. It's rather impolite, really." He speaks all in one breath, but Crowley still gets the point.

"_D__readful_, isn't it?"

The last thing Aziraphale sees before Crowley kisses him is a slow smile spreading across his face, rare and precious, bright in the night sky. It only takes Aziraphale a few seconds to realise that that smile never really disappeared - it's just being pressed against his lips, over and over again. 

Though he isn't ready to admit it to himself yet, Aziraphale much prefers it there anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aziraphale, trying to make up an excuse: uhh hhhh kiss?


	5. would you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You keep surprising me." Crowley breathes, in wonder.

"Crowley, is that you?"

It's late in the afternoon - Aziraphale has just sat down with a biography on Oscar Wilde that has worn, yellow stained pages and crinkled edges. He has a warm cup of cocoa between his palms when the door tinkles open. 

He'd closed the shop early, today, wanting some peace from the loud noise of London, so there was only one person who it could be entering.

(When Aziraphale says _ close the shop, _he actually means sealing the door with some divine magic and placing a repugnant smell outside, too, for good measure).

He doesn't move from his seat, knowing that Crowley will find him easily - it's a sign of trust, really, that he doesn't even flinch, just listens to the sound of Crowley pottering around his shop and only feels comfort. 

"What're you reading?" A warm breath says, close to his ear.

Crowley is leaning over his shoulder, peering into the book, his hair just brushing Aziraphale's ear. Aziraphale wonders if he's allowed to lean in, allowed, perhaps, to let Crowley greet him with a kiss on the cheek.

"Oh, good old Oscar. You met him once, didn't you?"

"Quite a few times, actually." Aziraphale says proudly. "I rather liked him."

He chalks it up to an accident when his cheek presses against Crowley's for just a moment. His eyes flutter shut for a second. Safety and home. An accident indeed. 

"I'll bet you did." Crowley moves away to lounge on the end of the desk, "Don't mind me, just get on with your reading."

Aziraphale doesn't know how to explain that it's impossible to concentrate with Crowley this close to him, leaning on Aziraphale's desk. It's been rather hard to be in Crowley's space since this whole proposal thing _ began, _really. The more lines Crowley crosses, the closer he gets, the more Aziraphale's mind begins to spin and unravel, unwinding like a knot quickly pulled free, until there's nothing else he can think about except Crowley.

Take, for example, this moment. Even though he's read this book 17 times already, Aziraphale can't, for the life of him, even put together what the first sentence is meant to mean. 

His eyes flicker up to where Crowley is sitting watching him. He looks up shyly, a few times, and every time their eyes meet Aziraphale busies himself with looking away and turning the page. On the surface, it appears that he's making good reading progress. In reality, he's more flustered than he should be and has never been more illiterate in his 6000 years of life.

Crowley isn't wearing his sunglasses. His eyes flicker gold. 

"Would you like some hot chocolate?" Aziraphale asks.

His voice is soft and quiet in the bookshop, as ancient as all of the books sitting around him. His eyes are perhaps a page waiting to be opened and read - isn't it funny, how Crowley looking at him gives Aziraphale the same, strange _ swooping _sensation he'd felt when they'd kissed? 

"Well, if you're offering."

(Crowley had never been able to resist anything sweet. Take, for example, the chocolates he'd given Crowley one Christmas, devoured within a day, or the lollipop he'd caught Crowley sucking on once.)

So Aziraphale moves to the kettle, and lets it rumble away. He grabs Crowley's mug, a black one matching his own he'd got once from a nice market downtown, and does all of this with a sense of peace. Their meetings are so _ slow, _now, lulling conversations and gentle hours passing by without a care in the world. They're no longer rushed by heaven or hell.

He hands Crowley his mug, now full with rich chocolate, a few tiny white marshmallows bobbing on the surface. Their fingers brush for just a moment, Crowley's hands on top of his on the warm mug, and they hold on. Just for a second. Then Crowley lets go and looks down into the mug.

"Fancy that," Crowley says, smiling, "A demon and marshmallows. Who would've thought it?"

"Well, they are rather scrumptious."

"_S__crumptious. _" Crowley repeats, and shakes his head. 

He takes a sip of the drink, and there's an adorable brown line over his upper lip afterwards. Aziraphale looks at it for a long time before he remembers that he does, in fact, have words, and the ability to use them.

"You've got a bit of-" Aziraphale motions in the air.

"Oh?"

Crowley isn't wearing his sunglasses. His eyes flicker gold. 

"You should kiss it off."

Aziraphale, half way to his seat, trips and stumbles over the leg of his chair.

"Uh. I- what?"

Crowley blinks.

"I mean, um, that was just a joke of mine, because of, _ well, _you know-"

"Oh, I see, that's-"

"Well, you know I didn't mean it, _ unless- _"

In the quiet of the library, there's nothing but breathing, soft and out of tune. It would be easy, wouldn't it, Aziraphale thinks, to press Crowley against the desk and be done with it. All these lines have been blurred lately. Could he? Should he? Is there a difference between Crowley's other proposals and that one in the sushi restaurant, or is it just Aziraphale's imagination, pushing him to touching, and knowing, and kissing?

_ Promise to be with me for eternity. _

"Is the hot chocolate nice?" Aziraphale asks, instead of kissing him, only the tiniest of cracks in his voice. 

Aziraphale slips into his seat, where he can look down at his book or the dents in the table. His own mug sits in front of him, swirling, still steaming. He sips from it and the warmth is comforting around his shaking fingers.

"Yeah, yeah, it's um, it's good, yeah, best I've ever had." Crowley raises his mug. Aziraphale makes the mistake of looking up at him, jumps, and quickly opens the book. 

"When you um, when you 'proposed' yesterday," Aziraphale asks. He turns a page, taking a sip of hot chocolate, as if they're just talking about the weather, "Do you really think that? About marriage, I mean."

"What, that whole eternity thing?" 

Aziraphale nods and turns another page. He isn't reading, of course, but it's comforting to look like he is.

"Well, I-" Crowley taps his fingers on his mug in a rendition of a song Aziraphale has never heard. "I dunno. I don't think _ marriage _is really for demons. Or angels."

Oh.

"Why, would you want to? Be with someone like that, I mean." The vulnerability in Crowley's voice startles Aziraphale enough that he finally looks up. Crowley coughs. "Not to _ me, _ I don't mean married to _ me, _no, no, no. I meant, in general terms, is that something you're, um, looking for, uh-"

"6000 years and I never once thought I'd go in for that sort of thing. I mean, I'm not a human, am I?" 

"Oh, no, definitely not."

"Romance is quite beyond celestial beings."

"Yes, of course, exactly."

"We're really not _ made _for trifling things such as marriage."

"Really, couldn't have said it better myself." Crowley pauses. "But if you- say you _ were _ human- or even if you just met someone, who you found you could want like that, against the odds, against your nature. If you _ could _marry them..."

Aziraphale has quite forgotten about his book, and his hot chocolate, because Crowley is looking at him with _ desperation, _ frankly, and he itches to reach out to him, to run a hand along his face, to kiss his cheek and go _ it's alright, it's alright. _ Crowley speaks next in almost a whisper.

"Would you?"

_ Would you? _

The question aches. How could he tell Crowley that he's wanted like that for centuries, and pushed it down, and pushed it down, just to please heaven. And how could he tell Crowley that after Armageddon and the first proposal and the bloody- the bloody _ practice kissing _ it had all bubbled to the surface again.

_ Would you? _

Of course he would. Of _ course _he would. Oh, dear, the answer is almost too easy.

"Oh, Crowley." Aziraphale is choked by words, all of them wrong.

Crowley puts his hand on Aziraphale's cheek and runs his thumb across it.

"Sorry." He murmurs.

Aziraphale leans his face into Crowley's hand, softened. 

"There's nothing to apologise for."

And they've been here before, haven't they? After the bus stop, holding hands all the way to Crowley's door, the night hadn't ended there.

_ "Just until I can get my bookshop back." _

_ There, Crowley had walked into his space, right in front of his front door. Aziraphale could look up and see every flicker in his eyes, every line on his mouth, every secret curve in his face, looking, watching, waiting. If they were other people - if they weren't angel and demon - Crowley might lean down and kiss him, perhaps, perhaps. _

_ Like in Aziraphale's imagination, Crowley presses his hand to his cheek. _

_ "We'll figure something out," He says, eyes steady with certainty, "We already stopped the end of the world. We'll stop them, and you'll get your bookshop back, and we'll be free, and then-" _

_ "And then?" _

_ What could happen next? Something as miraculous as Crowley's hands, in his own, or on his face? Once it's all over, and the dust has settled, then... _

_ If Aziraphale were braver, he might turn his face into Crowley's palm, and kiss it. But that is not for tonight. Not yet. _

It's the memory of that moment, Aziraphale knows, that's beating between them, a reflection of themselves just at the edge of freedom. They've moved forward since then. So he turns his face into Crowley's palm, and kisses it. Crowley's eyes flutter shut and linger closed even after the kiss.

The air, crackling. Tension like a coiled spring. How long will it take for Crowley to lean down and kiss him, Aziraphale in his seat and Crowley perched on his desk? Close enough, closer now than before. Of course Crowley's ridiculous plan brought them the closest they've ever been.

"You know," Aziraphale says, unsteadily, Crowley's hand shaking on his face,"I haven't proposed yet. Seems rather unfair, if you ask me."

"Mm."

"Soon, then?"

Crowley's hand falls from Aziraphale's face, away, Aziraphale thinks, from where it belongs.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay."

There is silence that feels uncomfortable and wrong. After all, there is always noise between them, yelling or laughing or murmuring. Noise between them for 6000 years, a song that never quite ends. So Aziraphale does the only thing he can: he talks.

"Monopoly?" Aziraphale asks, lightly, and Crowley raises his eyebrows.

"_Monopoly? _Really?"

"Well, have you got any better ideas? Thoughts? Suggestions? Or do you want to perch there like some- some large bird all evening?"

"I suppose not." Crowley grumbles.

"Well then!" Aziraphale claps. "Prepare to be beaten!"

*

It's quite a sight, isn't it, an angel and a demon sitting cross legged on a bookshop carpet with a board game between them and their voices getting louder and louder. Mugs have been refilled and the evening is falling and passers by keep looking curiously into the bookshop at the loud sounds of laughter that keep slipping outside onto the London Streets.

They've been playing for hours, now, but their mugs are still steaming because of a little angelic magic, and Aziraphale feels all soft. Socked feet, Crowley with no sunglasses, the smell of old books, home in a nutshell, with Crowley fitting just right in all of the warm spaces.

"I'm telling you," Crowley says, holding up a house and pointing it at Aziraphale with an accusatory look, "You're cheating."

"I didn't _c__heat, _I would never!"

"Oh yeah?" Realisation dawns on Crowley's face. "This is all because I got those blue ones, isn't it? Sore loser, you are."

"The blue ones are Mayfair and Park Lane," Aziraphale snatches back the house from Crowley, who frowns at him, "And no, actually, I think I'm holding up quite well since I got the orange colour set."

"Ha, right! You lost all your five hundreds _ hours _ago. You're on the rocks, I think."

"Well, perhaps things are a bit rocky at the moment, but I'm sure I'll get back on track-"

"Give me that house, angel, I need it-"

"It's not even your _ turn, _Crowley, surely placing it is against the rules-"

"You're one to talk about the rules, I'm sure you forgot to give me that money when I passed go-"

"I'm a perfectly fair banker, I'll have you know-"

"Give me that house!"

"No, you're not having it!"

Crowley lunges forward across the board to grab it and ends up sprawled on top of Aziraphale, sheets of fake monopoly money and coloured cards flying everywhere. From here, Aziraphale can look up at Crowley's face, can feel the length of Crowley's body against him, long and lithe. 

Too close, too close, Crowley's face just hovering over his own. Aziraphale gulps, and Crowley stiffens, his eyes flickering to Aziraphale's throat. There's nowhere to hide when his wrists are pinned under Crowley's hands.

"Gotcha." He drawls, and grabs the house from Aziraphale's slack hand with a grin.

"That's cheating, dear." Aziraphale's voice is hoarse. "Foul play."

"You cheated first." 

"I _ didn't. _"

"Hm. I'm not convinced." Crowley breathes against his mouth, smelling like chocolate. "Some angel you are."

Silence as they look at each other, their faces lit by the lamp on the floor. Aziraphale runs his tongue over his bottom lip and Crowley traces him, follows it, mesmerised. Aziraphale smiles to himself, lifts his head to lean into Crowley's space, places his mouth beside Crowley's ear, and whispers....

_ "Gotcha. _"

Before Crowley can react Aziraphale has grabbed the house from his hand and has slipped out from underneath him, standing triumphantly in the middle of the empty bookshop and looking down at Crowley. He's sprawled on the floor, looking up at Aziraphale with the fond irritation which is saved just for him. Serves him right, Aziraphale thinks, and twirls the little house between his fingers.

"You!" Crowley hisses.

"Me?" Aziraphale says, the picture of innocence.

(Alright, maybe he _ had _been cheating just a little, because he was getting down to his last few hundred notes and frankly, he'd been getting desperate. But perhaps losing is worth Crowley's startled, delighted look, because surprising him is one of Aziraphale's favourite hobbies, and has been for 6000 years.)

Crowley holds out his hand.

"Help me up."

So Aziraphale bends down, grabs it, and-

Crowley yanks him down onto the carpet, or, more precisely, on top of him.

"Oopsie." Crowley drawls.

"I hate you." Aziraphale decides, even as he smiles.

"Nah," Crowley smiles back. "You don't."

*

Afterwards, when the game is packed neatly back into the box (with only one hotel slipping under a bookshelf, never to be seen again) and the mugs have been placed snugly back in Aziraphale's cupboard, they stand outside by Crowley's car. It should be a simple goodbye, a hushed _ goodnight _and then Crowley drives away, but there they are hovering. Aziraphale, by the window, and Crowley, his hands still on the steering wheel.

Night has fallen, now, enough so that the streets are quiet and the streetlamps are shining once again. Aziraphale can hardly see Crowley from where he sits shrouded by shadows in his car, but he sees the glint of yellow eyes, now and again, just a small flash in the night.

"Goodnight, then, dear." Aziraphale murmurs, into the night sky. 

"You uh," Aziraphale hears a noise, the smallest of thuds, perhaps Crowley tapping his hands against the steering wheel, "You wanna come back to mine for a bit, angel?"

"It's late. Better not."

"Oh. Right. 'S fine." Aziraphale spots a frown flicker on Crowley's face in the dark. "But your proposal's soon...?"

"Yes, yes, soon, yes."

"Right, good, that's, uh, good, yeah."

Then Aziraphale leans down and presses his lips to Crowley's in the dark, a gentle, hopeful kiss, and then another just behind his ear, for good luck.

"What was that for?" Crowley asks, flushed, because it wasn't a kiss for pretending, like the others. There wasn't an excuse. Perhaps it was just the dark, and the memory of their lovely, lovely night, and the memory of the days before that, that all passed in gold and laughter.

Aziraphale just smiles.

"You keep surprising me." Crowley breathes, in wonder.

Well, Aziraphale thinks, when the car pulls away and he's left in the dark looking after Crowley's headlights, that's one of his greatest hobbies, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HE SAID UNLESS AKJDNKJFNF
> 
> crowley: kiss me
> 
> crowley: haha just kidding unless??
> 
> there's no reason for the monopoly scene except that it was cute and they're both silly


	6. eternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You try to seduce someone," Crowley is grumbling, "And it all goes pear shaped. Nightmare. Should've just let the apocalypse happen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last chapter!!!!!! half the size of the other ones but i rly love it the MOST hope u enjoy!!!!

On the day of Aziraphale's proposal, it's raining cats and dogs.

Not literally, although it certainly feels like it. The rain splashes against the pavements and forms huge puddles that would soak into Aziraphale's shoes if he wasn't an angel; it falls with noise, a soothing, rushing sound that remains consistent, the type of sound one would listen to to fall asleep, louder when you're outside and covered in it.

Aziraphale isn't wet - he's groomed his hair, he's straightened out his suit, he's polished his shoes, he's completely and utterly prepared. If his heart is beating a little too quickly, and his stomach keeps twisting in that warm, lovely sort of way it does when you make eye contact with someone you love too much well, that's just the downside of a human form, not an oversight on his part.

The ground sloshes beneath his feet. Though it's only the afternoon, it's dark, enough so that the street lamps have started to come to life, and it feels later than it actually is. Soon, he'll be at Crowley's door, he'll be standing in the rain in front of Crowley. Speaking, at last, talking about _ feelings _for the first time in... well, in 6000 years.

So he knocks. It feels awfully formal, stepping up to Crowley's door and knocking on it like he's a stranger.

"Aziraphale?"

Now that he's here, though, Aziraphale's words have escaped him, swallowed by a puddle, perhaps, or caught in the light that falls on the wet streets. He swallows. 

Crowley's leaning in the doorway, looking down at him with a curious raised eyebrow, so casual and pretty that Aziraphale wants to crawl in a hole. Does he really _ have _to talk? Can he not just let Crowley kiss him, instead, and skip over the difficult part? 

"I, uh," There's something familiar about this scene. Standing in the doorway, Crowley's hand on his cheeks, and Crowley saying _ and then, _"I came to propose."

"Oh? You wanna go out somewhere? I'm sure you mentioned a place you wanted to go, I can drive-"

A pause. Aziraphale could take the chance to escape. Dine at the Ritz, do a silly fake proposal, kiss for show and then pretend it isn't real, like one long, elaborate pantomime. But then Crowley smiles at him, a reassuring, fleeting thing, and that idea goes out of the window.

"No, my dear, I think- I think here's fine."

"Here? You mean-" Crowley blinks. "_ Oh. _ Wait a minute-"

"Just let me- let me finish, I-" Aziraphale stumbles over his words, tries to find them, the ones he dropped in the rain as soon as Crowley opened the door, "The thing is, this whole proposal thing, it's all been very... Well, it was fun at first, wasn't it, and I didn't really think anything of it, just another one of your ridiculous plans-"

Aziraphale tries to chuckle, but it's a weak sound drowned by the rain.

"But then there was the rose, and the- the _ eternity _thing, and the kissing, can't forget the kissing, uh, that was really- I always thought kissing was a human thing but I- it was, um, it was-" Aziraphale gulps. "Oh, dear, I'm making a mess of this."

"No, you're not," Crowley's voice is hoarse, "But just wait-"

"Well, you see, I've always- I've always thought, you know, even when I shouldn't, that it's your company that I want more than anyone's, isn't it? You've always been my- my best friend." Aziraphale stops. He doesn't know if he's said that before. "You're my best friend, Crowley."

"Yeah," Crowley croaks, "You're my best friend too. One second, though, angel I need to-"

"It's just... Well we do have eternity, don't we? And I've just been thinking- the more this stupid proposal thing goes on... well why not?"

"Are you saying-"

"You interrupted me _ again _ ." Aziraphale smiles. He might start to cry. That'll be very embarrassing, but hopefully the rain will hide it. "I'm saying, dear, I'm saying you made me realise I _ do _want to be with you for eternity. I do."

Crowley blinks.

"Aziraphale, listen-"

"Really. I'm sorry I never told you before. We can get married, or whatever you want, whatever just- I want to spend the rest of my time with you here on earth because I love you."

Crowley, frozen in the doorway, looks more vulnerable than he ever has before. 

"You-" He blinks. Is he crying, or is it the rain? "Say that again."

"I love you."

Crowley goes to step forward out into the rain, but Aziraphale holds up a hand. 

"I'm not _ finished. _Really, Crowley, where are your manners?" Aziraphale fumbles around in his waistcoat for a moment. "I thought I'd do it properly, with the whole ring thing, so here. I got them, you know, from that Jeweller place I like, it's really quite lovely-"

"Listen to me, you stupid angel, I've been trying to tell you since you got here." Crowley puts his hand in his jacket, and pulls out a ring too. "You just ruined my _ whole _ fuckin' plan. You know, I had a whole _ thing _ planned, it was bloody brilliant. You- You stole _ my _proposal!"

Aziraphale looks down at his ring, and then at Crowley's, his mouth wide in surprise.

"Ah. I see." He says. "Well, you proposed about four times already, so it's only fair that _ mine _is the one that counts."

"That's not fair! _ I've _ been planning this whole thing- since the beginning! You really think I would've embarrassed myself like that for _ free food? _ Have you _ met me? _ This whole thing was just a ruse! All these proposals were just part of the plan- I was gonna- I was gonna do the whole _ real _proposal thing, you know, once you'd warmed up to the idea-"

"You- You _ tricked me. _" Aziraphale exclaims. "You've been tricking me all this time! It all makes sense now! Oh, dear, that's rather embarrassing."

"You try to seduce someone," Crowley is grumbling, "And it all goes pear shaped. Nightmare. Should've just let the apocalypse happen."

"Well, this doesn't change the fact that _my _proposal was better than all of yours combined-"

"Oh, not likely, that's just-"

"Though," Aziraphale smiles. "I did like the rose. Would you like a rose, or flowers? I can get you a bouquet. I know a lovely florist, and she- hmph!"

Crowley has descended the steps, and has gathered Aziraphale into his arms. He hugs him tightly, so Aziraphale's face is buried in his shoulder, and Crowley's chin rests on his head. The rain is falling on Crowley, soaking him to the skin, so Aziraphale spreads his wings and covers them both.

"So, you love me, do you?" Crowley murmurs, "Fancy that."

"It's only polite to say it back." Aziraphale mutters, into his shoulder.

"Uh. You too."

"Oh, come on, you've got to _ commit _to it. A bit more oomph, dear."

"Oh, really, can we just skip that part?"

"No, I want to hear you say it-"

"I love you." Crowley whispers, almost incoherently, into his hair.

Then he pulls back and kisses Aziraphale in the rain, until Aziraphale can't help himself and has to pull away to giggle.

"This is rather romantic, isn't it? I always see this happening in films, you know, the whole kissing in the rain thing, very sweet-"

"Shut _ up. _"

"Does this mean you're say yes?" Aziraphale presses their foreheads together. "Will you marry me?"

"No, I want a do-over, _ I _should've been the one to propose-"

"Crowley!"

"Yes, yes, alright, I'll marry you." Crowley grins. "But I'm not happy about it."

"Could've fooled me." Aziraphale grumbles, but Crowley shuts him up with a kiss.

*  


"Tell me again," Aziraphale sighs, into the gentle morning, when there are no London cars passing by the window, and the whole of the South Downs breathes light, and there are creased bed sheets for two beings who don't even need sleep, "How long you'll stay with me."

One kiss, at his hairline. 

"Eternity."

One kiss, at his cheek.

"Eternity."

One kiss, against his closed eyelids.

"Eternity."

One kiss, for the tip of his nose.

"Eternity."

One word, hovering over his lips, a breathed promise.

"Eternity," Crowley murmurs.

He hovers over Aziraphale, balancing on one elbow. His face is lit by dawning sunlight, casting shadows over the walls but illuminating the lines of Crowley's face. His smiling lips shine, and his gentle eyes flicker yellow, and his hand brushes back the hair at Aziraphale's head. There is no one more perfect, Aziraphale thinks, there is no one he'd rather stay with for eternity.

Eternity in their cottage, in their touches, in the glances between two beings who know each other as well as their own reflection.

"Please." Aziraphale breathes.

Crowley leans down to press their mouths together. A kiss, just one in the rest of forever.

"Once more?"

"Stupid angel," Crowley grumbles, but he says it anyway. "I promise to be with you for eternity."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're reading this thank you thank you thank you <33 this is my first multi chapter fic like, ever and I haven't written ineffable husbands before so!! I hope it's alright and that you enjoyed pls pls let me know your thoughts!!!
> 
> if u couldn't tell already by reading this fic. i'm soft
> 
> also i only finished writing this bc of natalia who would've literally killed me if i didn't so all credit goes to them


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